By Trevor Pepys
Trevor Pepys reviews Locale
In times gone by, when Noosa’s food culture began to hit its straps, we were justly famous for the warmth of our welcomes, effusive greetings, attentive seating and a fast track to something to wet the whistle.
I’m thinking here of maitres d’ like Stef Fisher, Brett Massoud, Peter Gilligan, Dave Burgess and Johnny Blundstone. But the front-of-house superstar of more recent times who takes the Edi Brunetti memorial award for making you feel like a long-lost friend, is Locale owner Rio Capurso. This is high praise. Even Mick Jagger had to concede that Edi was world class after he calmed and charmed Jerry Hall down when she threw a tantrum and threatened to throw herself into Lake Cootharaba because he didn’t have any Evian. “Just bring her tap water,” Mick whispered when the fuss had died down, “She won’t know.”
It must be their shared Italian heritage, but Rio puts a smile on my face every time I enter Locale, just like Edi. Unfortunately, when Trevor and the missus visited recently, he was having a night off, so things might have got off to a bad start, but they didn’t. We were greeted enthusiastically and shown to a charming courtyard table with a filtered view of people’s ankles as they came and went from the little car park above. But only Trev would mention this, and the overall ambience, just beyond the roar of the crowded main room, was pleasant.
Trevor was last at Locale back in February with a rowdy bunch of visiting Americans whose ebullient leader insisted on over-ordering for the table (we’d already had two hours of hors d’oeuvres on a river cruise) so we decided to under-order this time. And, to be honest, some of Trev’s best experiences at Locale have been grazing on tapas in the bar.
So we ordered the pane selection ($9) while we pondered the menu and guzzled a bottle of quite decent Range Life King Valley pinot grigio ($48), the closest thing Locale has to “house wine” – don’t get me started. A word about the bread: you can give it a fancy name, but a basket of bread is approximately just that, right? Well, not always. This basket was filled with crispy, cheesy, melt-in-the-mouth taste sensations that made you want to slurp more of that wine, just like peanuts in the pub.
Next, we slid into half a dozen natural oysters with white balsamic, eschallot, prosecco and limoncello dressing ($5 each), which Trev livened up with a side of Tabasco. Yum. More pane to mop up the juice.
We followed this with a couple of entr¨¦e-size selections from the pasta menu to share, Mrs Tucker opting for the tagliatelle of squid ink pasta, Mooloolaba king prawns, calamari, garlic, lemon, butter, basil and pistachio ($34), Trev for the tortelli with braised lamb, brood, farm greens and broad beans ($29). Lucky we were sharing, because Trev’s tortelli was a little sub-par, and Pepys house rules dictate that he who writes the review gets the better of any shared dish, otherwise you can stay home with a TV dinner and a cask of plonk.
Any pasta in squid ink is a good base for fresh local seafood, but this night’s tagliatelle was a subtle marriage of flavours that really worked. The lamb tortelli was simply too bland to compete, but there was nothing left on the plate, it must be said.
The verdict: Half a dozen or so years since it opened in the French Quarter, Locale still lives up to expectations as one of Hastings Street’s special event dining experiences, not over the top expensive, but don’t expect to get out under a hunjie a head, even if you eat as lightly as Trev’s svelte figure suggests he does. But it is a special experience, even when Rio’s not there.
Locale, 62 Hastings Street. Phone 5447 5111
